Page 59 of The Business Trip

Wheeling Stephanie’s smaller suitcase to the gym, I peeked in the windows. Not a soul. Just a row of treadmills facing some nondescript buildings and palm trees with steppers and bikes behind the treadmills. The free weights were off to the side, lined up neatly on a rack. Using the key card to click myway in, I scanned the walls and corners for cameras. Nothing I could see. It was as sterile and empty as could be.

The weights ranged from five pounds to fifty. I walked over and started picking up the various denominations to see what felt like it could weigh down a suitcase with a body in it. I figured I needed at least a hundred pounds.

Hoisting two fifty-pound weights off the rack and into the suitcase wasn’t easy, and I braced myself for a story in case anyone unexpectedly walked in on me. I was a worker taking them for cleaning, I would say if the person arriving was a guest. I was a guest wanting to use them in my room for a bit, I would say if a worker came in. Just for good measure, I threw in two twenty-pounders. I had the suitcase zipped and was out of there without a soul bothering me. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I sailed back to my room. Every part of my plan was working.

Carefully, I manipulated the weights into the larger suitcase, wedged around Stephanie’s body and the bags of ice. It was still early afternoon, and I knew the conference downstairs was ongoing. I needed to wait at least until cocktail hour and darkness to wheel Stephanie out, to use the wheelchair lift on the minivan to get the now incredibly heavy suitcase in, and to head to the secluded spot for the dump. In the meantime, I had to rest. I was going on very little sleep from the last two nights—the first being the night I left Glenn and the second the night I arrived here.

Drawing the curtains on the room and removing my baseball cap and Lennon glasses, I wiped off some of my transformative makeup, smearing my eyeliner and eyeshadow in the process. Oh, who cared? I just wanted to sleep. Lying down in the quiet, dark room, I was completely conked out within minutes. I was having a dream that my grandma was walkingwith me through a forest, down a path that was littered with purses all a robin’s-egg blue. It was twilight, and Grandma told me we were going to the deep spot over a river. Just as I was about to ask her what river, I heard a knocking. It startled me out of sleep, and it took me a minute to realize this was not in my dream but here in the room.

“Maintenance,” a man called. “Is there a broken refrigerator in your room?”

Oh, crap—my mind raced. Why was he here? How would he know this? The stupid waitress from lunch, that’s how. I had to think fast. No one could enter this room. I jumped out of bed and went to the door, opening it just a crack and peeking out.

“No, I’m OK. False alarm,” I said. “It seems to be working now.”

“Do you want me to come in, ma’am, and take a look?” the worker pressed. “The kitchen staff told me you had to get ice to keep medicine cold.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“No, thank you. I’m fine. I think—I think—” My mind scrambled. “It just wasn’t plugged in all the way. It works now. I must have bumped it when I was unpacking. I’m sorry for the hassle.”

“OK, ma’am, if you’re sure. We want you to have everything you need during your stay.”

“I’m good, thank you. I will call if there are problems.”

“OK, very good, ma’am.”

Relief flooded me, and I closed the door and put my ear to it to see if I could hear him moving away. Footsteps got softer, and there was the ding of the elevator. Exhaling, I turned to go back to bed when someone knocked on my door again. Whatthe fuck? I froze and didn’t respond. The knocking got harder. Without moving I called out:

“The fridge is fine, thank you.”

“Stephanie? It’s Trent. From the conference. How ya doing? You OK? You never came back after lunch.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.That asshole had resurfaced again. I stayed stock-still and hoped he would go away. How did he even know I was in here? I had never told him my room number.

“Steph from Mad-town? Did you hear me? It’s Trent, from Atlanta.” He was practically yelling now. A sudden panic went through me that he might raise too much of a ruckus and others would notice. I had to respond in some way. Inching toward the door, I opened it just a slight crack again. I wasn’t wearing the same clothes from earlier and I didn’t want him to see me all the way.

“Well, hey there,” he said and leaned against the door frame. “How ya doing? We missed you at table four.”

“Oh, hi, Trent. I’m sorry I didn’t come back. I have a migraine.”

It wasn’t too far from the truth.

“A migraine? I thought you were having refrigerator problems,” he replied. My panic meter shot up again.

“No, that’s fixed now… and… how did you know that?”

“I just saw the maintenance guy talking to you. I’m two doors down. Listen, if you need any help with anything in your room, no need to call maintenance. I’m a super handy kind of guy. I fix everything. Just give ol’ Trent a ring and I’ll come down to help you.”

“Thank you, I’m fine,” I responded and started to close the door, but he stuck his hand out and stopped it from shutting.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. I’m sorry you have a headache, but maybe a drink will help. I decided to bug out early from the conference too. Maybe you and I should just play hooky.” He grinned, his eyes radiating desire. I was repulsed.

This jerk wouldn’t leave. I had to figure out how to shake him before he manhandled his way in. If he pushed the door hard enough, there would be no way I could stop him. Fear crept into the reaches of all of my limbs.

“Really, Trent, I have a terrible headache. I get migraines and this one is bad. But if I rest tonight, I’ll be back tomorrow fresh, I’m sure.” I threw in a smile in what I hoped was a slightly flirtatious way. It seemed the best way to get him away from me—the promise of more later.

“Listen,” he said. “Here’s my key card. I have another one. I’m going down to the pool for a bit. If you want to hang out, just let yourself in.” He winked at me.

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